Handicapped Ramps

It's a hot day today, and I had plans to ride up Signal Mountain with my friend Marc. Marc is the man who inspired me to ride, and I enjoy those Sundays that I am able to ride with him. As I came down off the mountain however, the heat was getting to me. I was starting to get a headache, so I decided to stop at a convenience store for a moment of cold drink and shade. As I was sipping my drink and thinking about getting back on the road a truck pulled up and promptly parked right in front of the handicapped ramp.

Of course, this meant I wouldn't be using it with my bike, but more I was disturbed by the blatant disregard for its purpose. It made me think of the general disregard for others that I see day in and day out. I know this isn't common everywhere, Wisconsin was quite the opposite, but it seems more and more common.

Gulf Shores

Picture the scene. A cool breeze crosses your skin as you bask in the warm sun. There are hundreds of people smiling and chatting, friendly and open wandering around. You approach a white cabana tent where you hand in your ticket and are given a blue wristband, a wine glass custom engraved with the event's name (no cheap plastic here!) and a shoulder bag with a wine caddy, water cup and informative print brochures. You then wander from one wine tent to another, tasting and enjoying the offerings from across the world. After a few tastes, you wander to the gourmet food tent for a snack, which you take with you to the bayside dock. There, you enjoy the quiet lapping of the water against the white sands where you watch pelican's lazily flapping by.

Perhaps you watch one of the locals, an arrival by boat, wade through the shallow water to shore in his cut off khaki's and golf shirt. No shoes are required for this wine tasting event. Perhaps you'll enjoy a presentation from a nationally acclaimed chef, or perhaps you'll come the second day for the gourmet brunch.

What event is this? Its the Southern Breeze Coastal Wine Tour, and it is well worth the trip.

Of course, the visit to Gulf Shores wouldn't have been complete without some time spent on the beach. Naturally, I avoided the commercialized high rise hotels on the beach and opted to stay in Fort Morgan. The penninsula into Mobile Bay contains the Bon Sequor bird sanctuary as well as being a sanctuary for the endangered beach mouse. For this reason, it remains more a coastal beach community than a tourist destination spot, though most houses on the beach are available for rent during peak season months. Anyone going to the area that enjoys beaches that still include dunes, sea oats, and of course the tracks of wild birds and animals, this is the location for you. My hostess and I took a pair of beach chairs, a drink, and sunscreen to the wite sands and sat for an hour or so simply enjoying the show. There must have been a large number of fish off shore as the seabirds were diving and fishing with gusto. A few men attempted to share in the apparent bounty, as did the manta ray we saw leaping high into the air in front of us. The tableau would be unthinkable elsewhere, but we enjoyed the show tremendously. All in all, a lovely location well worth the journey.

Bakewell, TN

It is morning in Chattanooga, TN and I am planning my favorite Sunday morning passtime. A bike ride.

Cycling is not just a passtime, it is an addiction that once obtained is not easily or happily put aside. I probably spend the majority of my free time on pretty days in the saddle, pedaling happily with friends I either planned to ride with or found on the way, and I truly love either variety. The variety of personalities I've met on the road is only matched by the variety I've seen.

This blog is where I will talk about such adventures.

Yesterday was a good beginning. I met with three compatriots about a mile from my home in Red Bank, TN with a plan to put in about 60 miles total riding time heading into Bakewell. It was in Bakewell that I saw him.

Something about the foothills of the Tennessee Blue Ridge Mountains brings a certain character to its people. Individual, distrustful of strangers, small communities often seeming like pockets of civilization, or a veneer of civilization over a region whose culture is rich with proud if clannish families. One thing they don't cotton to is being told how to live, hence the distinct lack of zoning codes through many rural counties in East Tennessee. This leads to interesting dichotomies as I'll pass a trailer with the expected trash surrounding it directly across the street from a perfectly manicured country cottage garden.
The boy was not in one of those. He was walking around the front of a house on the fringe of Bakewell, a white clapboard house with full porch and a yard decorated equally with flowers and rotting equipment. His clothing was clean if worn, and his black hair stood out from his light cocoa face in wild accompaniment to the decor. What caught our eye was not all that though, it was the picture of the regions reputation that caught our eye as we brightly colored cyclists skimmed by on the road. It was the rifle in his 8yr old hands. We slowed to cross the railroad tracks that ran across the road and beside the boys house and as we glanced his way, he nodded sagely at us, acknowledging our right to pass by his home, so long as we did not tarry. I found myself grinning at the brief encounter even as my compatriots, lifetime residents of the area themselves, admitted to their discomfort. After all, we could not tell if the rifle was a bb gun or a "squirrel gun." To me it didn't matter. The boy was a picture of Tennessee rural life. I only wish I'd a camera to have captured him with.